


I'm Already On My Knees

by justawks



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Drug Use, M/M, Underage Drinking, delinquent!Harry, delinquent!Louis, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-09
Updated: 2013-11-09
Packaged: 2018-01-01 00:09:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1038014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justawks/pseuds/justawks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one is which Louis is troubled and Harry is troubled but it all works out in the end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Already On My Knees

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this forever ago, and posted it to tumblr. I'm trying to go through all my old fics though, and clean everything up, so here you go. 
> 
> And yes, i do write 1D fan fiction. Sue me. 
> 
> Title from Bedroom Hymns by F+TM
> 
> Disclaimer: Plot's mine, nothing else. 
> 
> P.S. This was only edited once.

Rain drips slowly down the dirty glass of the window, and his half-lidded eyes follow it blindly. It’s a nice distraction, lulls him closer to the bliss of sleep.

He’s closer now, feels more than sees the black tainting the edge of his vision. He can feels the warmth trailing from his stomach, dripping down down down before pooling at his feet. It stung, before, but now he’s numb. 

Everything around him is a blur, besides the ever faithful drip of the water. It is trailing, running, racing down the glass, and he wills it to go slower. Reaching the bottom means reaching the end. 

“Louis!” 

The voice is familiar, fills him with a warmth he can't remember feeling. He can’t place it.

A face appears in his line of sight, brilliant green eyes and chocolate curls matted by rain and dulled by fear. Panicked hands roam his body, he can see, but he feels nothing.

His vision is growing darker, sinking deeper and deeper into that realm he used to so fear. It’s almost welcome now, a respite from the absolute suck-fest that is his life right now. 

The tears dripping down his face terrify him, because he gave up crying years ago. 

It’s too late, anyways.

He slips into darkness, and the last thing before oblivion is the tortured cry of “Louis!” that is ripped from the beautiful boy in front of him.

***

Harry Styles is not an easy target. Despite his boyish charms and cherubic face, he’s probably the farthest thing from boyish or cherubic you’ll ever meet.

If you look back, 10 or so years, you’ll see the boy he was. Kind and sweet and innocent, angelic features and a dazzling smile. Fast forward 6 years are his once brilliant eyes have dulled, his once porcelain skin now a lifeless plaster. 

His clothes are torn, his face in worn, and black ink swirls and trails his body.

It's his sign of rebellion, to others. His only real ploy in a battle with strict parents or strict teachers or the entirety of society. (maybe, just for the hell of it.)

He knows though, of course he does. He knows the ink that lines and covers his body is a mask for all that he has endured. 

And he’s endured a lot.

***

Barbed wire digs into his back, tearing small holes in the back of his second hand t-shirt. He doesn’t mind though; it gives him something to focus on and he draws deep breaths in through the small stick of paper and plant.

Smokes billows out in front of him, dancing through the brisk October air. He’s supposed to be in school, maybe, or church. But alcohol has muddled his brain. Dulled out all the bad parts, but all the good parts too. Like chemotherapy for the troubled, perhaps, he muses to himself.

His eyes flick back and forth, from the old cat on the corner to the overflowing dumpster behind the bar across the street. People pass, spare him a few odd looks because he knows he looks young and cold and afraid but he is young and cold and afraid, hard as he may try to hide it. 

His life, for a while, was nice, but soon it deteriorated to this. Night after night, drink after drink. An escape from the constant No, we don’t want him or the We had no idea or the We can’t handle his…issues.

It’s a cruel, vicious cycle, one that only affirms the many fears he’s drilled into himself. That he deserves all he’s gotten, that his perpetual state of impending failure is all he was destined to achieve.

He wants to cry, can feel the salty droplets pooling behind his tightly clenched lids, but then he feels someone else next to him.

That’s the first time Harry Styles meets Louis. It’s the first of many.

***

The next day, at the same time, Louis appears next to Harry. This time though, he has his own cig clenched between his thin, pink lips. He leans back, arms and shoulders bulging beneath his thin white t-shirt, and god, Harry can feel himself salivating.

He's unabashed, and sometimes he hates himself.

They stand in silence for a while, until Louis speaks up.

“They got divorced when i was 15."

Harry nods. 

"Things fort of went downhill from them. Mom was never home, and when she was she was drunk. I had to take care of the girls, my sisters, but i was a fifteen year old whose dad was all of a sudden gone and I was probably gay and people seemed to think that was wrong, so how was i supposed to take care of them?”

He pauses, glances at Harry.

“Can i continue? I thought i’d found a kindred spirit, but if you want me to…”

Louis vaguely gestures in the opposite direction, but Harry shakes his head, and smiles fondly (or as close to fondly as he ever gets).

Louis sighs, leaning back against the fence.

“The first one was Tommy, and i actually liked him. He had this huge, crazy head of hair, sort of like yours.”

At this point, Louis reaches up and tugs lightly on one of Harry’s curls. Harry smiles again, and it hurts his face a little.

(He's not used to it, is all. It's been a while.)

“He would always bring the girls treats, and if my mom was drunk he’d call home first so i could get the girls out of the house. But then one day i came home early and Lottie was there and he was there too and it was so, so bad."

He stops, clenching his fists tight.

"He hadn’t done anything, but he was going to, you could tell. And she was crying and he was drunk and i was yelling and i grabbed a knife and threw it and he was fine, really, it was just a scratch on his arm, but he sued and…”

He trails off now, looking at the ground and blinking rapidly.

Harry places a hand on his shoulder, and for once in his life, Louis doesn’t flinch.

They sink now, slowly towards the ground. Knees drawn up to their chests and lungs heaving slightly, because this is intense, this is big.

“I’m not allowed within 100 yards of them now.”

Harry stops, blinking. “Wow.”

“Yeah.”

Louis seems hesitant.

“And…” Harry prompts.

As shameful as it is, this is making him feel better. He’s not so alone anymore, and it’s nice.

“I got my first tattoo then.” 

Louis shoves his left sleeve up, exposing his shoulder. It’s covered in a massive bird, graceful in simple black lines. It looks like it’s flying, like the wind is ruffling it’s sleek feathers.

“It’s beautiful.” Harry mutters. You’re sort of beautiful.

***

A week later, the same thing happens.

Louis appears suddenly, materializing next to Harry. They sit in silence, taking slow drags out of their cigarettes and pointedly not looking at their clasped hands. 

“The people, whoever they are, found out about my mom, and so the girls got put into foster care. I got stuck with my mom, and i always had to keep her out of trouble. I stopped going to school. I couldn't leave her like that, y'know."

Harry shrugs.

"I would wake up and she’d be throwing up then she’d be hungover then she’d start yelling then she’d start hitting.”

His voice cracks a little, and he clears his throat softly.

“I didn’t want her to go to jail or anything, because she’s my mom and i love her. So i didn’t say anything, just did whatever she asked and kept quiet and kept us both alive. It got better, at least for a while."

He smiles wistfully, and Harry feels it in his gut. 

"But then she met Jacob. He was huge, a proper jailbird. He had ugly tats and an ugly face and he never said my name, always just called me 'fag'."

It travels up to Harry's chest, this feeling. He has the urge to spill his guts, but he bites his lip and it fades, slowly.

"He would come over randomly, with no warning, and just take over the house. He’s eat all our food and steal the couch and stuff like that, annoying petty stuff. But then he started bringing over alcohol, and they’d sit and drink together. If i tried to stop him, he’d threaten to report me for some made up claim, or threaten to find my sisters, or hurt my mom. I couldn't-"

His voice cracks again. 

"I wasn't gonna let another asshole near my sisters. So it was just like that for a while, really monotonous and stressful. I had to be really careful, because they were both reckless. Really violent-type drunks, screaming and throwing shit at me."

They've shifted, slowly but surely. Louis's head is resting against Harry's shoulder, and Harry has both hands wrapped around one of Louis's wrists. They're breathing in sync, cigs discarded on the cement beside them. 

"One day, he brought over drugs. Some little vial and syringe, and i said absolutely not. He tried to come in anyways, and i hit him over the head with the silver candle holder until he left. The next day, i’m arrested for assault and drug possession.”

They sit in silence for a while, breathing deep and watching their breath fan out and mingle with the smoke hanging heavy in front of them.

“Then what?” Harry asks finally.

“I went to juvi for two years. I came home. Everyone hated me, and my mom was gone. I can’t go within 300 yards of the girls now, and i have to do 500 hours of community service before i can begin online courses for my diploma.”

Harry is silent for a moment, eyes closed and fists clenched. They're similar, him and Louis, in more ways than one. Except Louis is a good person, and Harry is not. He hates himself a little more. 

“I got my second, third, and fourth tattoo when i came back and got the court order.”

Louis lifts up today’s t-shirt, revealing his right side and back. On his hip is a massive pirate ship, flag tattered but sailing high. Starting from his low back words Harry recognizes trail along, looping and swirling between a small field of poppies that rests above the ship.

_This is as good a place to fall as any, we’ll build out alter here.  
Make me your Maria, i’m already on my knees. _

Quietly, Harry pulls down the loose collar of his sweater. There, inked across his collarbones, are the same words.

Louis smiles a little, even though it’s not really anything to smile about.

***

Another week later, and they are in the same position.

This time, however, it’s Harry spilling his guts. His story is simpler, more concise. It hurts to tell it though, that’s why he’s never done it before.

“I was fourteen when my mom met Kevin. His was nice and first, sweet to her and tolerant of me. But then he proposed and they got married and he tried to control her. He would yell and accuse and call her names. He called her a bitch and i told him to shut up and he hit me."

"He left for a week, came back and apologized. She was so sad when he left, and i forgave him because i wanted my mom to be happy. But he kept doing it, kept being cruel and lazy. He’d hit her too, and i’d try to stop it. But a fourteen year old can only take so much before he just passes out or can’t get up again, and then what good am i?"

He asks himself this a lot.

"So it just went on an on and i missed school a few times and slipped in public a few time, let people see the bruises. So one day i came home a little late and my mom was gone and he was drunk and angry and he dumped the water i’d put on for tea down my back.”

A few tears slip, and he wipes angrily at them. It's a habit that was instilled back during the Kevin-era, as he calls it, and he's never been able to break the habit.

“When my mom came back later that night and found out i was in the hospital, she didn’t even come. She visited the next day, and she gave me this whole speech about how i couldn’t be so reckless with my life. She made it my fault, Lou.”

His voice cracks, breaks, and something in his gut just shatters. He buries his head in the crook between Louis's neck and shoulder, and breathes in slowly.

Louis sighs, deep and heavy. “I’m sorry, Haz.” he whispers.

Harry just nods.

“I got my first tattoo then.”

Harry reaches down, grabs ahold of his shirt and pulls. Once it’s off his body he turns, revealing his back. Louis can see the edges of the puckered, melted skin. Covering most of Harry’s back and the back of his right bicep in an image of a tiger, crouched low in brittle grass. Small, colorful flowers frame the scene, and a small stream runs from his shoulder blade diagonally down to his low back.

“To cover it up, mostly. But i thought it was beautiful, and i was trying to turn it into something at least a little better.”

Louis nods, because he understands. Life has thrown a lot at him, at the both of them. The urge to curl up and cry is strong, but so i the urge to fight, at least a little, against the past.

“I fell in with the wrong people then, did some stupid stuff. I dropped out, started drinking and using stuff. I stopped talking to my mom, to any of my old friends. I lost sight of reality a little.”

“So then what?” Louis asks.

“I’m here today. Living out of an alley with 450 hours of community service to fulfill before i can return to school.”

Louis nods, again, because he gets it.

“Stay with me tonight.” 

Harry looks up, surprised. “Really?”

“Sure. I could use the company, and you could use someplace to sleep, am i right?”

Harry nods, shyly, and spends the night at Louis's.

***

Things go on like this for a while. Harry starts sleeping over every night. They stay up into the early hours of the morning talking about their past and their future and their tattoos and their old friends. Harry talks about the book he wants to write, and for once, no one laughs at him. Louis wants to illustrate it, wants to add to it however he can.

Louis tells Harry about his dream of being an actor. He does monologues for him, reads him drafts of the play he started to write, a long time ago when he still had hopes and dreams.

Mostly they sing, though. Louis sings show tunes, and Harry sings classic rock. They have nice voices, but their songs clash. They belt them out anyways, loud and shiny and new. Harry smiles more than he has in years, probably, and Louis feels less alone.

One day, Harry is lying in bed editing a section of his book. It’s messy, choppy, but he wrote it in a “moment of brilliance” and hadn’t stopped until early the previous morning.

Because, you know, the book is a thing now.

Louis is lying on the bed next to him, smiling softly while watching him work. He thinks it’d be nice, to kiss Harry, because Harry has such nice lips. 

He’s humming now, softly and under his breath.

Harry catches on, and starts singing quietly in time with Louis.

I’m falling for your eyes, but they don’t know me yet.

Harry is watching Louis, and Louis is watching Harry. 

To Louis, it feels like they’re on the edge of a cliff, one step away from the precipice, one step away from safety. He hates it and loves it, but he’s helpless.

To Harry, it’s a lot simpler. Louis is beautiful, and for at least right now, Louis is his.

_You’re sort of beautiful _.__

__Harry thinks it, as he often does when he’s around Louis. It’s different now, though._ _

__He wants to say it now, too, wants to yell it off rooftops and get it tattooed into his skin._ _

__So he does. (At least, the first part)._ _

__“You’re sort of beautiful.”_ _

__They fall into each other, then, because words were never really what they wanted anyways._ _

__***_ _

__Their lives continue._ _

__Things are brighter now, full of cuddles and kisses and promises of love and adoration._ _

__But their lives continue._ _

__Things change though. It's weeks later, and all of a sudden, things change._ _

__Louis is walking home, late. He’s whistling a tune, a bounce in his step and money in his pocket. He had managed to get some volunteer hours at the local Animal Shelter, and the volunteer coordinator had allowed him to keep his tips. He’s excited, excited to surprise Harry. Excited to buy some more necessities at the grocery store. He thinks he might have enough extra to buy that one hair gel he likes so much, and that’s just so _exciting _to him.___ _

____(It's been a long time since he's been excited.)_ _ _ _

____He’s about to round the corner to their street (and it is, their street now) when a massive form is smashing into him from the side._ _ _ _

____He’s tumbling down, crashing down onto the cement._ _ _ _

____It’s all a blur then, a blur of pain and hits and he knows his money is gone and he knows he’s in trouble. It starts to drizzle lightly, and the water drips slowly down the back window of some restaurant._ _ _ _

____He’s tired, so tired, and the world is spinning and shifting around him. The pain in his stomach is dulling now, leaving him slowly and making him feel a little empty._ _ _ _

____Rain drips slowly down the dirty glass of the window, and his half-lidded eyes follow it blindly. It’s a nice distraction, lulls him closer to the bliss of sleep._ _ _ _

____He’s closer now, feels more than sees the black tainting the edge of his vision. He can feels the warmth trailing from his stomach, dripping down down down before pooling at his feet. It stung, before, but now he’s numb._ _ _ _

____Everything around him is a blur, besides the ever faithful drip of the water. It is trailing, running, racing down the glass, and he wills it to go slower. Reaching the bottom means reaching the end._ _ _ _

____“Louis!”_ _ _ _

____The voice is familiar, fills him with a warmth he can't remember feeling. He can’t place it._ _ _ _

____A face appears in his line of sight, brilliant green eyes and chocolate curls matted by rain and dulled by fear. Panicked hands roam his body, he can see, but he feels nothing._ _ _ _

____His vision is growing darker, sinking deeper and deeper into that realm he used to so fear. It’s almost welcome now, a respite from the absolute suck-fest that is his life right now._ _ _ _

____The tears dripping down his face terrify him, because he gave up crying years ago._ _ _ _

____It’s too late, anyways._ _ _ _

____He slips into darkness, and the last thing before oblivion is the tortured cry of “Louis!” that is ripped from the beautiful boy in front of him._ _ _ _

____***_ _ _ _

____It was a slow process, the recovery. His left lung had been punctured by the blade of the random mugger, his right arm had been broken, and he’d damn near destroyed his brain with the severity of the concussion he'd been left with._ _ _ _

____Harry was praised as his savior, because who else would have found the boy bleeding and suffocating to death in the deep recesses of a random alley besides that boy’s boyfriend._ _ _ _

____Once Louis is discharged, they finish their story. The newspapers get a hold of it, and it explodes. A young man, only a few years older then them but seemingly a million more in his wisdom, interviews them. His name is Liam, he is 23, and he loves them._ _ _ _

____That’s what he says when he meets them, and they almost want to laugh._ _ _ _

____Liam writes a beautiful article. It’s long and a little tedious to someone not paying close attention. But it tells their stories, both of them, in their entirety._ _ _ _

____It’s painfully honest and it hurts a little to read, but they do anyways._ _ _ _

____Then they publish the book, after everything. It long and beautiful and neither has ever been more proud. It’s filled with Harry’s words and Louis’ drawings and people really, really like it._ _ _ _

____The chief of police in their small little town issues them a letter of apology. Everyone who deserves to go to jail does, Tommy and Kevin and Jacob. Even their mothers do, but only for a short amount of time._ _ _ _

____Louis can see his sisters again, and their community service hours are waived._ _ _ _

____They complete them anyways._ _ _ _

____***_ _ _ _

____Harry Styles is not an easy target. Despite his boyish charms and cherubic face, he’s probably the farthest thing from boyish or cherubic you’ll ever meet._ _ _ _

____If you look back, 10 or so years, you’ll see the boy he was. Kind and sweet and innocent, angelic features and a dazzling smile. Fast forward 6 years are his once brilliant eyes have dulled, his once porcelain skin now a lifeless plaster._ _ _ _

____His clothes are torn, his face in worn, and black ink swirls and trails his body._ _ _ _

____It's his sign of rebellion, to others. His only real ploy in a battle with strict parents or strict teachers or the entirety of society. (maybe, just for the hell of it.)_ _ _ _

____He knows though, of course he does. He knows the ink that lines and covers his body is a mask for all that he has endured._ _ _ _

____And he’s endured a lot._ _ _ _

**Author's Note:**

> This is like the longest things i've written and it kinda sucks but i'm crying i can write longer than 2000 words, guys.


End file.
